


Sweat dripping down our dirty laundry

by becka



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Barebacking, M/M, Panic Attacks, bad housekeeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 22:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: How does neat and tidy Niall end up writing a sexy song about dirty laundry? Obviously he has sex with the messiest person he knows. It isn't quite as simple as he wants it to be.





	Sweat dripping down our dirty laundry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [balefully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully/gifts).



> Written as birthday fic for Lucy, whose birthday was, uh, a while ago. May Nouis continue to bless us all. <3

Niall is drunk when Louis kisses him in the back of a cab, messy and eager and so indiscreet it makes Niall’s head swim. He’s loose and hot at the end of the night, the collar of his shirt itching against his skin. Louis is practically in his lap in the backseat, one thigh suddenly nudging between Niall’s as Niall leans back against the relative cool of the window. He tries to say, “This is a bad idea,” but it’s not; it’s maybe the best idea Louis has ever had.

“Come home with me,” Louis says, teeth sinking into Niall’s lower lip.

Niall’s “yeah” gets lost in a sweep of Louis’s tongue. Louis gets one hand shoved in the back of Niall’s shirt, fingertips hot at the small of his back, just above the waist of his jeans. Every touch is new, electric, and Niall imagines the cab driver looking, but the tremble of fear in his belly isn’t enough to make him stop.

Then Louis pulls away, flopping back on the other side of the seat as Niall gapes at him. The street signs outside are familiar, and he realizes they’re nearly to Louis’s house, that if Louis’s going to laugh this off, the moment is coming fast. But when the car stops, Louis shoves some cash at the driver and grabs Niall’s hand before Niall can try to give him an out. His brain is on fire with questions, but nothing Louis could say to him right now would stop Niall following him inside.

Louis is a messy person, always has been, trailing garbage and balled-up socks and stray bits of paper wherever he goes, but Niall still doesn’t expect the state of his bedroom. There’s a pile of trainers by the door, and he stumbles on them as Louis drags him into another kiss, hot and slow and deep. Something crunches under his foot as Louis tugs him toward the bed, which is an indistinct shape in the dark, and Niall tries to look down, but Louis catches his mouth again, and Niall shuts his eyes instead, opening to the thrust of Louis’s tongue.

He falls back onto the bed with a thump, smacking his shoulder into something hard and flat, Louis crawling up between his legs and kissing him again immediately. Niall wriggles sideways, working one arm under himself and finding the cool metal of Louis’s laptop. “Shouldn’t you put this someplace safe?” he says, his lips tingling around the words as he holds it up.

Louis takes it and leans away to set it on a bedside table, knocking something else to the floor with a clatter. “Better?” he asks, and Niall can just see the arch of his eyebrow in the dark. Niall’s thighs are spread around his hips, and Niall makes a little noise of assent, desire leaping in him, gathering in the places they touch.

He presses a hand to Louis’s cheek, gentle, tilting his face for another kiss. He’s pictured this before, privately and without much hope of it happening, and now it is, more desperate and less romantic than maybe he imagined. But good, so good. Louis rocks down into him as the kiss deepens, a rough imitation of fucking, and Niall trembles, arching, offering himself as best he can.

Louis’s mouth moves to the lobe of his ear, the taut line of his neck, and Niall turns his head, breathing in the musky, stale scent of Louis’s body from the sheets, intimate and familiar from years of tour buses. Louis himself smells of deodorant and cigarettes and clean sweat, but his bed is layered in days or weeks of old crisps and sweaty feet and BO, a cloying mix that makes Niall swallow down an urge to gag even as Louis’s lips are fueling the ache of desire in his belly. Louis bites at his collarbone, and Niall’s fingers claw at the bed beneath him, catching on the neck of a stray t-shirt as he moans out Louis’s name.

Niall’s shirt buttons come open beneath Louis’s searching fingers, his hands gentle on every sensitive inch of Niall’s newly exposed skin. He sucks at one of Niall’s nipples and Niall presses a trembling palm to his shoulder, not pushing Louis away but making sure he’s real, even as a bruise wells under his mouth. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to change in a shared dressing room where someone will see and comment on it anymore. Niall arches into the solid weight of Louis’s body between his thighs, bending his knees up to fence him in, keep him close.

Louis reaches for Niall’s fly, leaving his shirt hanging open, his bare skin so hot it feels flayed with want. Louis’s still in his t-shirt and jeans, jacket flung somewhere by the front door in his haste to get at Niall’s body. Niall’s hips twitch as Louis drags his fingers down Niall’s zip, rubbing at the shape of him, slow strokes that don’t satisfy. Niall should have known Louis would tease, draw this out until Niall was hurting with need; Louis has always liked to get the upper hand.

“Get your kit off,” Niall says roughly, abruptly tired of waiting. He digs his hands in under Louis’s t-shirt, pulling it up and then off while Louis blinks down at him. He wants all of Louis’s body, all of Louis’s skin for his mouth and the heat of him close enough to drown in.

Louis kisses him again while Niall is working at his fly, wishing Louis was in trackies. It’s been a while since he had to deal with anyone else’s zip, and his fingers slip in the tight space between their bodies. Louis is hard, and Niall can feel it, the solid shape of his cock pressed against the front of his jeans. He wants to get his mouth on it, almost says so and then goes shy around the words. He doesn’t want to give that much of himself away, at least not in words. He doesn’t even know if Louis’s been with another man before, although the thought makes him lightheaded with jealousy he has no right to.

“I want to fuck you,” Louis says, soft but certain, as they move against each other. Niall’s fingers still, and he has to breathe with the wave of want that crests over him. He wouldn’t have asked for that, he thinks, but he’s greedy for it, imagining the thick weight of Louis’s cock inside him. He tries to nod, but he gets caught up in another kiss, Louis’s mouth moving slow and slick over his, making him ache even more.

It’s clumsy and takes too long, getting out of their clothes, and when Louis steps back from the bed to peel off his jeans, it feels like a loss, like he might just walk away. But he doesn’t. Niall has one gorgeous moment to stare dry-mouthed at the bobbing length of Louis’s cock, and then Louis is on top of him again, their bodies flush as Louis kisses him, his tongue sliding intently over Niall’s. Niall moans and squeezes his knees around Louis’s hips where they intersect with his. They get all tangled up together, arms and legs and greedy mouths moving. Niall feels desperation gathering in the pit of his stomach, and he needs Louis to fuck him before this dream of a night ends.

“Please,” he whispers, right up against Louis’s mouth, canting his hips up, ignoring the way his voice catches.

Louis makes some assumptions at that, dragging his lips down the side of Niall’s neck, biting at his tender nipples and leaving a bruise in the little curve of his hipbone. When Louis’s lips part over the crown of his dick, Niall stares in disbelief. He wants this too, the wet pull of Louis’s mouth, the shadowed hollows of his cheeks as he sucks Niall in all the way. Niall isn’t great at giving head, but Louis is. Louis is fucking brilliant at sucking and swallowing and not gagging and filling Niall’s head with static. Niall knows suddenly that he can’t be the first man Louis’s been with, since the way Louis’s sucking him with long slow pulls of his mouth is not beginner stuff, and the sweeping wave of jealousy is enough to make him hide his face in the sour smelling duvet bunched under his head. He wonders if Louis’s washed his sheets in the entire time he’s lived here. He’s in and out so much that maybe he just doesn’t notice the smell or thinks it’s just what beds are like. His nest on the bus had probably been much the same, although Niall was never in it to see.

Louis’s fingers sneak in to cup his balls, knuckles pressing behind, and Niall moans and spreads his legs wider, trying to tell Louis what he wants without saying the words. He’s afraid saying it, saying anything at all, will spoil this perfect moment. And it is perfect, Louis’s mouth sliding down and down over the length of his dick, enveloping the whole thing with perfect suction. Louis sneaks a finger in to tickle Niall’s arsehole, pressing a little like he means to get inside on desire alone. And Niall would let him, even if it hurt, if it meant Louis all the way in him.

“Is this good?” Louis asks, voice thick as he pulls off Niall’s cock.

“Perfect,” Niall says, touching Louis’s hair, hating how sincere that word sounds. “Just grand.”

“Good. It’s nice to get a little feedback.” He smiles, and Niall smiles back, holding Louis’s eyes until it feels like too much.

“Have you got lube?”

“Yeah. Yeah, hang on.” He heaves himself off the bed and begins rooting around in the mess on the floor around the bedside table, and now that Niall’s eyes have adjusted, he can see more of the room, even though he doesn’t want to. There’s a stack of plates next to the spot where Louis’s feeling around on the floor, the top one crowned with a mug and a single sock. There are clothes hanging from the closet door, making threatening shapes in the dark, and Niall realises a thing he’d taken for a pillow on the other side of the bed is actually a rucksack, bulging with who knows what. If Louis were anyone else, Niall might call the whole thing off, but then Louis straightens up with a sound of triumph, and the sight of him, naked and grinning, is enough to make Niall’s resolve (and his dick) harder. He’ll see this through.

There’s something stuck to the back of Niall’s thigh, and he can feel it crinkling there as Louis settles back in between his legs. It itches and pulls until Niall can’t focus on anything but that one uncomfortable spot, even when Louis bends to kiss him again, Niall’s lips part, and Louis’s tongue slides inside, and all the while, Niall’s hitching his leg up, groping a hand down to get whatever it is off his skin. His fingers close on the edge of some kind of sticker, fleecy with lint, and he removes it in one quick tug, tensing as it takes some of his leg hair with it. There’s no bin, nowhere to drop it but the filthy floor, and Niall wavers for a moment.

“What’s that?” Louis asks, feeling for Niall’s hand in the dark. He plucks the sticker from Niall’s fingers and tosses it carelessly behind him. “Sorry about that, mate. No harm done though?”

“Better than a Brazilian,” says Niall, and Louis laughs and kisses him again, rubbing his hand up the back of Niall’s thigh, soothing the itch and starting something new as Niall’s legs are opened wider. They’re both hard, and Niall can feel every inch of Louis’ dick rubbing in the hollow of his hip, and he’s ready for more. “Are you gonna fuck me?”

“Fuck yeah,” says Louis, and he sets the condom and a little bottle of lube on Niall’s belly, like proof of his intentions. Niall’s arsehole clenches, and he gives a heartfelt little moan. “God, you like that, don’t you?”

And the truth is Niall would like any way Louis wanted to touch him right now, but Louis’s slipping a hand down between his legs again, rubbing at his hole, and that’s what Niall wants most. Louis’s fingers are dry, stroking over his taint and around his tense rim, teasing until Niall squirms and tries to stifle his desperate groan in the pillow, a waft of hair gel and sweat gagging him.

Louis pulls away to squeeze lube over his fingers, and it’s not as nice as the stuff Niall uses on his own, but it’s better than he might have expected Louis to have, thick enough to ease the burn as Louis presses two fingers into him, fingertips crowded together inside his arse. Louis goes slow, but Niall doesn’t need it, not after that first stinging moment. He opens to the stretch of them, the shifting pressure of Louis’s knuckles as he pushes in deeper, eyes moving between Niall’s face and his stuffed hole. Niall lifts his knees, pushing onto Louis’s hand, paper crinkling at the small of his back, but he doesn’t care because Louis’s fingerfucking him properly now, a steady in and out that skates over Niall’s prostate every time.

Louis is gentle but deliberate, working him on two fingers until Niall’s thighs are trembling and his whole body is wound tight with the need to come. “Please,” he whispers, arching into Louis’s touch, something sticking at the base of his spine. He wriggles, distracted, trying to dislodge it while Louis pulls out of him, grabbing for the condom on Niall’s belly.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks incredulously, as Niall digs a hand under himself. It’s not sexy, but he comes up with a sweaty, crumpled McDonalds receipt, holding it up and trying not to scowl. Louis takes it from his hand and drops it on the floor, just more for the mess, and Niall hates the way that makes him feel, even though it’s Louis’s house and Louis’s bedroom and Louis can do what he likes. “Sorry, love. I’m not the best housekeeper, am I?”

Niall’s supposed to laugh—he knows he is—but he can barely muster a smile. He pulls Louis down into a kiss instead. This he can lose himself in. Louis licks into him, slow and hot, Niall’s hard dick leaking between their bellies. He misses Louis inside him already, his empty arsehole clenching down on nothing as Louis fumbles open the condom packet. Niall hears the crinkle of it tearing. And then…

“Fuck,” Louis says, leaning up on one arm. “I dropped it.”

Niall bites down on the inside of his lip and stares at the ceiling fan. He imagines the slick rubber rim of it on Louis’s filthy floor, picking up hair and crumbs and who knows what else. He imagines Louis putting it on anyway, pressing into Niall’s bum like that. His stomach knots up with sudden revulsion. “We could do it without,” he offers softly. He’s never done that, but the mess of Louis inside him, illicit but hot, seems infinitely preferable to the everyday mess of Louis’s room.

Louis pauses in his sweep of the bedclothes. “Really?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

Louis shakes his head, and Niall thinks he won’t do it before he says, “I don’t mind if you don’t. I’m clean.”

“Yeah,” agrees Niall. “Please.”

Louis kisses him again, slow and almost reverent, before he shifts back to smear more lube over his dick. Niall watches him do it, breath catching in his lungs because he’s so ready for Louis inside him. When Louis rubs the head of his cock against Niall’s hole, Niall arches up, moving his whole body towards the pressure of it. It goes slowly, Louis pushing into him, pulling back again, drawing out the process of getting his dick all the way into Niall’s arse.

“You’re so tight,” Louis murmurs, mouthing at the corner of Niall’s jaw, but Niall feels wide open, desperate, as Louis works deeper into him. He shifts restlessly, and Louis finally, finally starts fucking into him like he needs.

Niall moans out his name, fingers catching in Louis’s hair and angling him into another kiss. It’s different without a condom, the way Louis’s skin catches slightly on his, the slick pull of his cock, and Niall savours every second of it, licking at Louis’s mouth as Louis fucks him. Louis’s harder thrusts push him farther up the bed, and his shoulder knocks against something solid, but he can’t care now, when he’s finally getting what he needs.

Deeper thrusts make him cry out and clench his thighs around Louis’s hips, and he reaches a hand down to pull distractedly at his cock. He’s so close, Louis’s cock gliding into him over and over, like it belongs in his arse.

Then Louis slips out of him, and Niall whines at the loss. “Don’t stop.” He licks his lips. “Please don’t stop.”

“I’m gonna come.”

“Come in me,” Niall says, the words spilling out of him on a gasp. He’s so empty, and he needs it suddenly, a mess inside him to match the mess of Louis’s bedroom. 

Louis hesitates, the wet tip of his dick nudging at Niall’s balls, the slick skin behind them. When he slides back into Niall’s arse, Niall groans and pulls him closer. Louis’s hips jerk, and he steadies a hand against Niall’s hip, starting to fuck him again, deep and slow. His breath is uneven, and his eyes are wild when Niall looks up. How fucking long has he wanted to make Louis look like that? He strokes himself faster, pushing himself back onto Louis’s cock, getting closer and closer.

Niall tries to keep his eyes open to watch Louis come, but it’s hard to focus with Louis nailing into him, gliding past his prostate on every thrust. When he comes, Louis is still working into him, grunting as he pushes in deep, working himself into the slippery mess of Niall’s hole. He goes quiet when he starts to shoot, soft gasp and then a pulse of heat that makes Niall shiver all over.

“Fuck,” whispers Louis, leaning in to kiss the corner of Niall’s mouth, collapsing down onto his elbows and then flat against Niall’s chest. His cock slips out of Niall’s arse, and Niall clenches around the sudden emptiness. Louis is mouthing lazily at the side of his neck, but Niall’s brain is already racing ahead. He wonders if Louis will ask him to stay the night. He wonders if he’ll say yes. He pets at Louis’s hair, clumsy with uncertainty. “Are you going?” Louis asks.

Niall swallows, knows Louis will feel it with his mouth against Niall’s throat. “If you like.”

“I don’t like.” Louis glances up and smiles at him, and it feels intimate, a fragile connection that’s more than sex. “Stay.” He sinks back down at Niall’s side, their legs still overlapping, and flings a corner of the duvet up to cover them both. A balled-up tissue lands on Niall’s chest and he brushes it away, trying not to think about where it lands next. Louis is asleep in moments.

Niall tries to sleep, but his skin is crawling, and he’s sure he can feel dust and crumbs and other detritus gathering where he’s sweatiest, caking behind his knees and between his legs where Louis’s thigh is still parting them. He feels it all building and building until he can hardly breathe, air wheezing in and out of his lungs, Louis’s arm suddenly too heavy across his chest. He tries not to make a sound, isn’t sure whether he’d be able to form words if Louis asked him what was wrong. He tells himself it’s fine, that there’s nothing in Louis’s house that can hurt him, that he can shower when he gets home and no harm done. But none of it helps. His chest feels tight, like nothing inside him fits quite the way it’s supposed to, and he realizes he needs to move before it gets any worse.

He rolls out from under Louis’s arm and feels his way off the edge of the bed. His bare feet hit tangled fabric and then carpet, and he picks his way through the mess to the en-suite in the dark. If he can just wash off a bit, maybe it’ll be all right. 

There’s something hanging over the bathroom door, and Niall has to bat it onto the floor before he can shut it. His hands are shaking, fingertips numb with panic, and he rests his head against the smooth surface of the door. Under his feet the tile is cool, and if it’s covered in dust and stray hair, the soles of his feet don’t know it. The light through the window over the tub is dim, the city feeling far away below them, and Niall decides not to turn on the light. He feels a little better already, taking deep, shaky breaths, his knees watery and barely holding him up, but his stomach roils as he considers sinking down on Louis’s bathroom floor.

The shower stall is daunting in the dark, with separate dials for each of the several shower heads, but Niall messes with them until he’s got hot water pouring over his head. There’s only a bar of soap in the shower, rough with stray hair, and Niall can’t imagine using it on his own body, so he just lets the water sluice over him in the dark. He stands there for a long time, wobbling on his feet, the lump in his throat shrinking down until he can breathe almost normally again. He rubs wet hands over his skin, squeezing at the tension in his shoulders, holding his arse cheeks open to let the water clean him out there as well. It’s not comprehensive, but it helps, at least until he steps out of the shower and realises how unlikely he is to find a clean towel.

“Hey,” says Louis from the door, and Niall startles and nearly slips on the bathmat.

“Hi,” says Niall. “Sorry, I just wanted to clean up a bit.”

“No worries. Only I wondered where you’d gone. I thought you might’ve snuck out on me.” There’s an edge of potential hurt in Louis’s voice, like this all meant more than a shag.

“I wouldn’t though.” Niall takes a cautious step closer to Louis, naked and dripping. “Have you got any clean towels?”

To his surprise, Louis says, “Of course,” and slips past Niall to a cupboard Niall hadn’t noticed in the dark. The towel he hands Niall is neatly folded and smells of detergent, and Niall clutches at it like a lifeline, tugging it to his chest before he even unfolds it. He feels shaky again, joints going watery as he sees how Louis’s watching him.

“Sorry,” he whispers, tucking the towel around his waist with tingling fingers.

“I’m sorry my house is a fucking tip,” Louis says, touching Niall’s arm, and when Niall doesn’t flinch away, sliding his hand up to Niall’s shoulder and squeezing. Niall leans into his touch. “That’s what’s got you spooked, right?”

“Not spooked, just…” He can’t admit he had a panic attack in Louis’s bathroom. “It’s your house. You can do what you like.”

Louis hesitates, and his mouth goes tight like he’s not sure whether to say the thing he wants to say. “I don’t notice it. When it’s just me.”

“I know. And I’m not here, mostly.”

“But if I asked you to stay, you couldn’t, could you?”

The bottom drops out of Niall’s stomach, a sucking void opening up inside him because he’s waited so long, and wanted, and it doesn’t matter. Louis’s right. “I don’t think I’d sleep,” he answers honestly.

“Do you want to go outside?”

Niall glances down at the towel, then back at Louis, eyebrows raised.

“We can find your clothes. Or you can put on something of mine, but maybe you’d rather not.”

“I can find my clothes,” Niall says. He’s afraid maybe it comes out like a condemnation of Louis’s clothes, which isn’t what he means, but Louis just steps back into the bedroom and tilts his head for Niall to follow.

Niall’s jeans and pants are tangled up together beside the bed, and he doesn’t look too hard at what they’re sat on top of. He steps back into his pants and then his jeans, doesn’t bother with his shirt, which might be left in Louis’s hall somewhere. Louis is silent while Niall follows him out to the patio. He’s got on a hoodie that swallows his hands and swamps the rest of his skinny body, and a pair of trackies that cling to his thighs in a way Niall can’t ignore.

Moonlight shivers off the still surface of the pool, and Louis chooses to sit at the edge of the patio with his back to it, toes in the grass that guards the sudden slope down into the valley. Louis lights a cigarette, and Niall sits next to him and watches him smoke for a bit, knees folded up close. He wishes he had his shirt as a breeze stirs along the crest of the hill, but he just folds his arms around himself instead, curling up tighter.

“Is it better out here?” Louis says, looking at Niall sideways from under the mess of his fringe.

“Yeah,” replies Niall. “It’s bigger.”

“So size does matter then. They always said that was a lie.” He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for Niall to smile, and Niall can’t help but oblige him. He can still feel the slight stretch of Louis inside his arse, the claim he laid to Niall’s body less than an hour ago.

“No complaints about your size, mate,” he says quietly.

Louis smile softens, turns a bit shy. He takes a last drag off his cigarette and stubs it out on the stone. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Niall doesn’t know if he means the sex or the panic attack or something else. He’s beginning to get goosebumps on his arms, although he keeps telling himself it’s not even that cold. “I don’t need to talk,” he says, which probably covers.

“You can talk to me though. If you want. In case you didn’t know.”

Niall unfolds one of his arms to put his fingers over Louis’s on the stone. He doesn’t know how to say any of the stuff that might actually help Louis understand. Some things he’s managed to avoid saying this whole time they’ve known each other. What would their friendship have been like if he’d put that all out there in the beginning, the way his emotions got all tangled up around Louis, how he’d never quite admitted he wasn’t straight until he wanted Louis so much. Maybe not that last bit. “Should have worn a shirt, I think,” Niall says instead of properly answering.

Louis pulls his hoodie over his head and hands it to Niall as though he isn’t just as badly off now. Still, Niall pulls it on, warm from Louis’s body and smelling like Louis’s cigarettes. He stares at the dark blots of Louis’s tattoos instead of looking at his face. He wants to know if any of this meant anything. He wishes they could’ve had sex more than once before he fucked it up.

“I reckon you don’t want to come back in.”

Niall’s stomach squirms, horrified sense memories making him hesitate. He shakes his head. “Not for the night. I’ve got to be at the studio tomorrow, and I shouldn’t be wrecked on no sleep.” He might cry himself sore when he gets home anyway, just at the loss of the opportunity, but it’d be better than staying here and making them both feel worse in the morning.

“Do you want to go home?” Louis asks.

“I think that’d be best, yeah.” Niall starts to strategize the most graceful way to stand up, readying himself to leave.

“What if I went with you?”

“What?”

“I haven’t got a lot on tomorrow. I could just hang around. If you like. I just don’t want you leaving like this, as though I don’t want you to stay.”

That sounds so nice that Niall has to temper his reaction to it down to, “Yeah. That’d be nice, if you can.”

“Sure. I’ll call a cab and grab a few things, and we can round up the rest of your clothes.” Louis pops to his feet and holds out a hand to help Niall up. Niall takes it, lets Louis pull him close for a kiss. He steadies himself with a hand on Louis’s bare waist, and their lips meet gently, once and then again. Louis kisses him like kissing is something they’ve always done, not something brand new they’re exploring tonight. Niall feels warm all through.

Louis shoves his toothpaste and deodorant in the pocket of his hoodie once Niall gives it back, and by the time Niall’s found both his shoes, there’s a Lyft two minutes away. Niall tries not to think too hard about what they’re going to do next on the short drive to his house. He thinks about taking Louis’s hand across the backseat instead, how easy it would be to reach across and squeeze his fingers, fixating on exactly the movements required to do it, even though he won’t. There was a time when he could have done it without it meaning anything in particular, but he’s sitting on the lingering throb of Louis’s cock in his arse, and there’s no way that doesn’t change things. Another time he’d make small talk with the driver, who looks like someone’s nan and has the radio turned so low there’s nothing but a shudder of beat and trickle of melody coming through the speakers, but none of the words in his head are helpful ones.

When they pull up to his gate, he thanks her and waits for her to drive off before he punches in the code to let them in. Louis’s crowded behind him, and there’s not that much of the night left anyway, even if all they do is sleep, but it still feels important. Louis stays close behind him as they walk to the front door, and now Niall lets himself reach out to take his hand, squeeze it tightly, and then let go.

“You’re all right, lad,” Louis says softly, like he might do before a big show or in a crowd, and it’s so familiar that Niall nearly trips over his own feet. “Just get us as far as the bed.”

So Niall does. There’s no frantic undressing in the hallway now, but they do it in the bedroom by common understanding. There’s nothing else on Niall’s bedroom floor, and Louis looks self-consciously at the pile of his clothes as he climbs into Niall’s neatly made bed. Niall wonders how his house looks to Louis over all, if it seems freakish and cold, everything tidied into straight lines and sharp corners. But Louis’s burrowed under the duvet in his pants and made himself at home on the pillow before Niall can start to form a question. There are different things he worries about when he’s at home; he plugs in his phone beside the bed and quickly checks his alarm, once and then again because he didn’t even absorb what it said the first time.

Niall climbs into bed, but there’s so much space between them then, in Niall’s big bed. He isn’t sure he’s shared this bed with anyone before. LA is a pretty lonely place for him, too big and full of strangers who might want to fuck him but might be canny enough to want something in return if he was stupid enough to take them home. It’s easy to get off elsewhere, quick and dark, stranger to stranger, and maybe that’s why it hits him so hard suddenly, having Louis in his bed.

“You want to cuddle a bit more?” Louis asks, and Niall does, deeply. He moves over a bit, and Louis moves over a bit, and as soon as they touch, Louis curls an arm around Niall’s waist, drawing him in. Niall tucks his head under Louis’s chin and closes his eyes as Louis’s fingers drift over his skin, slow strokes along the furrow of his spine.

He should sleep, but his brain won’t shut off, spawning a million awful things that could still happen in the morning, or next week, or anytime from now on. “I don’t want this to be the only time,” he whispers into the curve of Louis’s collarbone.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Louis replies. He’s holding Niall tight to his side, like that’s exactly where he belongs, and Niall shuts his eyes and tries to believe it.


End file.
